The Plan
by DraconianDevil55
Summary: House plots fiendishly against his lil' ducklings. CHAPTER 3 NOW UP!
1. Let The Cripple Races Begin

**CHAPTER 1 :**

**Let The Cripple Races Begin **

House limped quickly towards his office. If he could get to his desk, he could feign occupation and get out of yet more clinic duty. He popped a few Vicodin, slumped into his chair, turned on his laptop and flipped to a random page of the medical encyclopedia. To anyone but Wilson (who could read House better than pretty much anybody) he was the perfect image of a doctor at work. When Cuddy walked in he didn't look up, but closed the window of his Solitaire game and brought up a patient file.

"House, you're…

-Incredibly brilliant and deserve a week's paid vacation?

-No. behind on your clinic hours. AGAIN.

-Gee, Cuddy, he sighed regretfully, I can't. I'm busy.

-Busy? Cuddy asked doubtfully.

-Yep. Working a case. With a patient and everything. Just like a real doctor.

-Aah? said the skeptical doctor, moving behind House to see his screen. Impressive.

-I know, isn't it?

-Or rather it would be…if you were actually working.

-Whatever do you mean? asked House innocently. Cuddy wasn't fooled.

-Well according to this file, Mr.…aah…Stein died a week ago.

-How terrible, said House mentally kicking himself. But that does explain the dangerously low heart rate, non-existant brain activity, un-responsiveness to pain, and the smell. How smart you are Dr. Cuddy. Case closed.

-Good. You have a patient in Exam Room One."

House made a point to walk through every single hallway in the hospital on his way to the clinic. He knew he would have to go treat pretty much every hypochondriac in New Jersey sooner or later. He would just rather (understandably) do it later. And if he passed through every wing, there was more chance that someone would stop him for a consult (yeah, right) or that he would run into Wilson. As it happened, he didn't run into Wilson, but Chase. Well, technically, Chase ran into him. They found themselves in a tangle of arms, legs and cane on floor, the papers the intensivist was carrying fluttering to earth.

"Christ, Chase! Are you incapable of balancing on two feet? Are you gonna need a cane? 'Cause as fun as cripple races sound…"

Just then, Wilson came round the corner.

"You know, Greg, you shouldn't tackle the ducklings.

-It's part of their training. Toughens them up and teaches them to expect the unexpected.

-Since when to intensivists need kung-fu style training?

-Well, suppose they get attacked by a patient? Or by Cuddy?

-The only person to have been attacked in this hospital was you, said Chase as he gathered the scattered papers. When the HIV guy's dad punched you, remember?

-Actually, Foreman was bitten by that crazy homeless lady, wasn't he?

-Yes, but…

- And you wouldn't want to be bitten by a patient would you?

-No, but…

-So you should be thanking me."

With that, House set off on his ambling tour of the hospital. After handing Chase one the dropped files, Wilson caught up with him.

"C'mon. It's quarter past noon. I'll let you buy me lunch.

-No. stated Wilson categorically. Besides, don't you have clinic?

-Jimmy, you know I don't care about trivial things like clinic?

-Cuddy'll have your ass if you skip it anymore.

-Oh, Cuddy'll have my ass no matter what I do. I know she likes. And besides, I'm not skipping clinic. I'm just postponing it.

-'Speak of the devil and he shall appear' warned Wilson.

-What? Oh, sh…"

House noticed Cuddy striding through the hallway towards them. He crouched and tried to hide behind Wilson.

"House, I told you half an hour ago to get to the clinic! If you're not there in the next two minutes, I'm doubling your time. And quit acting like a four year-old."

As Cuddy turned and left, House straightened up, dusted himself off and popped a Vicodin into his mouth.

"Good. I don't think she saw me."


	2. I Have A Cunning Plan

**CHAPTER 2:**

**I Have A Cunning Plan**

Cuddy finally persuaded House to go to the clinic. Actually, she found him in one of the OB/GYN rooms, watching 'General Hospital'. She was so enraged she started beating him with his own cane. Fortunately, House decided that it would be best to go and do some of his clinic hours. He took his cane back, rubbed the fresh bruise on his arm, dry swallowed a few Vicodin, and limped off.

He took a patient file out of his inbox and flipped it open. He wanted to know what he was up against and arm himself appropriately. Just his luck, his first patient was a nine year-old with flu-like symptoms. House disliked children. Especially when they were sick and accompanied by their overbearing parents. He grabbed a few lollipops from a box at the reception. Not that he was going to offer any to the kid. He just felt like a lollipop. He pushed open the Exam Room door. Not bothering to introduce himself, he popped a Vicodin, put the bottle on the counter, and proceeded to the examination.

Little more than an hour later, House ambled out of the clinic. Technically, he still had two hours to do that day, but he was hungry and so stalked off towards the cafeteria. Besides, he had gotten through more than three quarters of his patients for the day, most of them sniffling children unfortunately. Flu season.

As he paid for his sandwich and chips, House noticed Chase and Cameron bent over a table, apparently in the middle of a heated conversation.

"Chase, you can't do this!" Cameron hissed.

"Calm down, will you? By next week it'll all be over." reasoned Chase.

"You remember what happened last time. He crushed his own hand and nearly killed a patient. He was exhausted and moody. Well, more so than usual."

"Textbook signs of withdrawal. But this time it won't be complete detox."

"What do you mean it won't be complete?" asked Foreman, coming up to their table. "I thought you were stealing his pills? How is that incomplete?"

"Well, Cameron thought that was mean, so…"

"It is mean. And what you're talking about now is still over the top." replied Cameron scathingly.

"So what are you doing now?" enquired Foreman.

"I'm going to…" Chase started.

However, he stopped short when he noticed House sitting a few tables away. Fortunately, he did not seem to have heard them, but continued intently reading his newspaper.

"…replace the Vicodin with…well…a bit of a special mix."

"'Special mix'?" Cameron asked apprehensively. "What do you mean?"

"Oh, just a little blend of Felixiatrin, and a bit a Vicodin, so that he still feels some pain, but not enough to rip our heads off from it."

"'Felixiatrin'?"

"A very strong anti-depressant."

"Where are you going to get this Felixiatrin?" asked Foreman.

"I know the guy who works at the pharmaceutical counter." replied Chase. "I just told him that I have a severely moody patient with intense leg pain."

"But how are you going to steal his pills to replace them?"

"I spoke to one of his clinic patients this morning. A boy named Tyler, I think. I said I'd pay him ten bucks to steal House's pills if he could."

"And he managed to do it?" Foreman asked, incredulous. "He never leaves out like that."

"Well, according to Tyler, House just put the bottle down on the counter. Then the kid managed to quickly sweep it into his pocket."

"So," said Foreman leaning towards the intensivist. "…you got them?"

Chase hunched over the table, blocking it from House's view. The diagnostician was still absorbed in his reading.

"Here." he said, pushing the small bottle to the middle of the table.

"Well I'll be." whispered Foreman, checking the label to make sure Chase wasn't bluffing.

"Why are you doing this, Chase?" squeaked Cameron. "Why now?"

"He tackled me, Cameron!" Chase hissed, as Foreman burst into fits of barely controlled laughter. "After all the insults, the mocking, the inane and useless tasks, this is the last straw."

"C'mon you two," said Foreman calmly. "Let's change these before he notices they're gone."

They filed out of the cafeteria, not paying much attention to House, who was still reading. However, had they watched him just a little closer, they would have noticed that his blue eyes had been fixed on the same spot on the page for the last ten minutes, and that a small, somewhat foreboding, smile was playing across his lips.


	3. The Diagnostician Strikes Back

**Sorry it took so long to update, I'm notorious for being a procrastinator.**

**Anyway, I changed extra-strength Zoloft for Felixiatrin (a drug of my own invention), so changes have been made in the last chapter.**

**Now, on to the story! **

**Chapter 3:**

**The Diagnostician Strikes Back**

As Chase took care of the replacement pills, Cameron and Foreman hovering over his shoulder, House quickly walked to Wilson's office. So the ducklings had finally grown a spine. "Mind you," mused House "it's a bit of a feeble prank, really. So juvenile."

When he reached the oncologist's office, he found Wilson stretched out on the couch, a copy of _American Medicine_ on the floor beside him.

"Sleeping on the job, Wilson?" tutted House. "Ooh, I'm telling Cuddy."

"Fine. And I'll tell her that you're the one who keeps sending her spam e-mail asking if she wants her breasts enlarged." said Wilson, not opening his eyes.

"I still maintain that they're not big enough. They're just…"

"Okay, okay." interrupted Wilson. "Really, it's fine. I don't need any more information on Cuddy's assets. Now I'm guessing you came here for a reason? I don't have any money to lend you."

"Relax. I need your help with something."

Wilson knew from the tone of his friend's voice that this wasn't going to be a plain old consult. He could tell that it would not be something completely ethical and right, but his curiosity overrode his hesitance. He straightened into a sitting position.

"Okay, then. What cunning and surely diabolical plan have you concocted now?"

"Oh, it's not me. It's the ducklings."

"The ducklings? But Cameron and Chase are spineless. Even Foreman will back off if you glare at him hard enough."

"Well, Jimmy, the times, they are a-changin'."

"Meaning? ..."

"Meaning that they're plotting against me."

"This surprises you?"

"Nope."

"Then you must have already thought of some counter-attack for…whatever they're planning. I don't see of what use I could be here."

Wilson lay back down on the couch, arms folded across his chest, eyes closed.

"They stole my pills."

Wilson's eyes shot open. He sat up and nearly toppled off the sofa. A look of confusion was plastered over his features.

"What? Was I speaking Shippingese? Sorry, sometimes I forget who I'm talking to."

Wilson gave his friend an odd look. A sort of "come-on-be-serious" look.

"But you never let that bottle out of your sight. You only let the pharmacist touch it, and even then only for a minute. Even I haven't touched it."

"Aww, don't worry, Jimmy," House cooed in a false motherly voice." Someday I'll let you hold it, but only if you're on your very best behaviour."

"I'm serious, House. I'm scared."

"What do you mean? I'll be fine."

"No, I meant about the ducklings."

"I'm not going to eat them. On the other hand…"

Wilson was, by nature, a kind person. But once and again, a part of his conscience (the part that, for some odd reason, had House's voice) burst out in a fit of maniacal laughter. And, at the moment, Evil-Wilson-with-House's-voice was itching to cause some (mild) havoc. The oncologist picked himself up off the carpet and stared at his friend.

"Okay, what are you planning? I want in." Wilson hated swallowing his pride like this, but Evil-Wilson was still kicking.

"Ohoh!" said House, leaning back in Wilson's office chair. "I thought you couldn't be of any use here."

"House, whatever you're scheming, I know it involves me somehow. It always does. So tell me already."

"Okay, here's the low-down: Chase has rallied Cameron and Foreman into swiping my pills and replacing them with Felixiatrin."

"'Felixiatrin'? You mean that new anti-depressant?"

"The very same. Now here's what we're going to do…"

The diagnostician scooted his chair closer to the couch and the two doctors plotted away, their conspiratorial whispers punctuated with laughter and the occasional sound Wilson falling (yet again) to the floor.

* * *

The ducklings had just gotten back from the pharmacist's counter and were sitting in the diagnostics department, debating on how to give back House's pills without him knowing that they had them. The answer presented itself when a rather frazzled-looking diagnostician limped into the room.

"Has anyone seen my pills?" He sounded out of breath.

"Yeah, you left them in the clinic this morning." Said Chase matter-of-factly. "Weird since you never take your eyes of them."

"Yeah, well," said House sounding perfectly fine now, relieved to be reunited with (one of) the only thing(s) that made his life bearable. "I guess I kinda zoned out this morning."

He snatched the bottle out of Chase's hands, and held it up to the light, suspicious.

"You didn't switch my pills, did you?" he asked suspiciously.

The intensivist turned bright red, but House pretended not to notice. This is going to be fun, he thought fiendishly.

**

* * *

****Well, there you go, another chapter. Please, please, please review. Next one coming soon (hopefully sooner than this one).**


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